


Suffer Me

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-21
Updated: 2005-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They wanted something like the real thing. Post-NFA</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffer Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Title: Suffer Me  
Author: Rachel  
Email: Edgechick816@aol.com   
Category: BtVS/Angel  
Pairing: Willow/Wes  
Disclaimer: Joss own’s everyone, I own nothing but the idea. I’m simply taking them out to play with.  
Distribution: Ask please  
Rating: PG13   
Spoilers: post- NFA, Wes is alive... because I said so damnit!  
Notes: Title comes from a Matchbox Twenty song of the same name. Lyrics are the fic. Yeah, once again my muse had taken over. This isn’t want I meant to write, but alas.  
Summary: They wanted something like the real thing.  
Feedback: Is loved and much appreciated :)

(She wanted something just like the real thing  
He needed love and it all worked out some how  
He knows that love is the king of emotion  
But he can't touch her because she's too perfect now)

She was tired of being lonely, he was tired of being alone. Suffer me, one of them had said, one night, a million hours ago, no one can remember who. It wasn’t prefect by any means; it wasn’t the deep soul burning love both of them had felt at one point in their lives. It wasn’t even simple. There was love, enough to keep them there. There enough pain to keep them going, (because what’s love without pain?). It was someone to carry you through the bad moments and celebrate the good ones. It was safe, warm and real. After all, who ever found perfect happiness anymore? Just two people they can think of who actually manage to be the .00001 that found tried and true happiness, and they had to go through Heaven and Hell, literally, to get there.

Neither of them had such silly, childish hopes for themselves... not anymore.

Her eyes fluttered open at the feeling of her hair being stroked against her back. She smiled; she loved mornings, the time when they could still pretend. It’s not that they were lying; there was love, and they were lovers, it just wasn’t the truth and it probably never would be.

“Morning,” His voice is rough with sleep, his accent drifting into her ear. It was something she would’ve have once found unpleasant, but now it was nice, even a turn-on. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder, his fingers tracing out the well known lines of the tattoo on the small of her back. After she created all the slayers she and Buffy went and got tattoos. The blonde’s was a heart with the stake going in it on her right shoulder blade. Hers; a spell book with heart over it and the word ‘goddess’ written inside the heart. It was a reminder of the good of white magic, and of why she never wanted to be taken over by the black arts. Over the years she’d learned how to control the magicks inside her; she was the single most powerful wicca in the world. Still one of her most scary thoughts; what if she lost control again? What if she hurt someone?

That’s why he was here.

“Hey,” She said softly, rolling over to face him. Her fingers ran across his scruffy five o’clock shadow. It was cute when he wasn’t totally clean shaven, it added to her new image of him; along with mussed morning hair and contacts, although his glasses could be kinda sexy. “Morning.”

He tucked a loose red strand behind her ear and smiled. The affection, especially in the morning, was wonderful. Not that it was ever faked or forced, how could it be with her? She was sweet, kind, bubbly and cheerful. Her heart was true and pure, even though she refused to believe it herself. She wasn’t his, but he adored and loved her as much as his shattered heart would allow. It wasn’t perfect, but it was surprisingly not bad.

“What are your plans today?” he asked, his senses taking in the strawberries and orange aroma that surrounded him. She smelled every bit the California girl she was.

She shrugged, “I’ve got some paperwork, and a class at three. We’re still floating pencils so,” her head bobbed a little, “it’s either a long class or it’s a short class with a hospital trip.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Since her own problems with magicks, she had undertaken the task of setting up and running a branch of the Watcher’s Council for training new witches and helping them control their powers. To say he was proud of her was an understatement. She had been willing to stand up, face her fears and help others in the process. He was more than proud, he was amazed by her.

Hey!” She pouted as he laughed at her. He gave her quick kiss, just enough to soothe her. “What about you?”

“Combat training.” He sighed, “The Watchers act more like girls than the girls do.” Wincing, he remembered a time when had been the same place, and why he agreed to help with the program in the first place. _‘People in glass houses, I suppose.’_

She wrinkled her nose, “Not fun. Maybe we should just forget about it and stay in bed.” She gave him one of her smiles, the kind that could make anyone feel like they were back in the California sunshine, even on the coldest England morning. There were worst things than staying in bed all day with her. _‘Like teaching a room full of green soon-to-be Watchers how to avoid their own crossbow bolts.’_ But they had jobs to do, things to atone for and sadly none of it could done from between their sheets.

“You know we have to get up,” he told her.

Her pout was back in full force as she looked with big green eyes. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of it?” Before he could answer, her lips were placing tiny kisses over his jawline. A barely muffled groan left his lips and he threaded his fingers through her hair, enjoying the pleasurable sensations before pulling back. His lips met hers in the first proper kiss of the day. She mewled every so slightly as he sucked her bottom lips and pulled away.

“Up, now,”

She stuck out her tongue and sat up in bed. The cold morning air of England hit her bare back and she shivered. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she bent over to pick his discarded shirt from last night when she felt a kiss right on her tattoo. She sat up as the kisses worked their way up her spine, giving attention to each vertebra before ending at base of her neck. Sweeping her long hair to one side, he kissed over her left shoulder, up the side of her neck and nipped her earlobe.

“Get dressed,” he whispered, “before I change my mind.”

She sent him a mock glare, “Well, what did you think I was doing Mr. Get-me-all-worked-up-before-work.” She stood up, picking up his shirt and putting it on. She inhaled his whiskey and spice scent as she worked on the first few buttons.

She didn’t know how they got there, in England, in their bed, in their home, working for the Council. Maybe it was all the talks they had after he’d left Wolfram and Hart. She wasn’t sure why, but he got her, in a way only three other men had. Or maybe it was the night she saved his life, and he somehow managed to save hers. Maybe it was being far enough removed from her reign of evil that she could talk to him without feeling judged. Or maybe in trying to help him she helped herself, that believing in him, made him believe in her. He helped her face her inner demons; he was her support when things got hard. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t ‘end of the world’ love, but was good, for now.

He watched as she dressed in his shirt and headed for the bathroom. It was nice to have a woman in his clothes again, one whom wasn’t evil or a serious threat to his heart. He remembered the night she saved him, the night he was supposed to die, but didn’t. When Vail stabbed him in the gut, she came and healed him, in more ways than one. In her he’d found a place where the grief over Fred’s death didn’t kill him more each day. In her he found salvation, and a life. He found his way back to helping people, even if it was through the Council. She kept him standing where he otherwise would’ve fallen. Things in his life never ended well, it was clear to everyone around them that she was the better of the two. Some days he wondered when she would leave him.

“Don’t use all the hot water!” He called after her.

“Suffer me.” Her lovely voice wafted back, holding all her affection for him in that one phrase.

He smiled as he recalled the first night one of them said it to the other. It was an ‘I love you,’ of sorts. He didn’t think about her leaving anymore.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

(Oh yes they were thinning out   
At that moment they were all afraid  
Started thinking that pretty soon one of them would leave   
She said suffer me)


End file.
